Michelle

Low ebb after a long day.
The day is oppressive and belligerent,
heat and light drying up any rage or tears.
Just catch my breath, finish up, go on.
 Leaving I see her, Michelle, petite and shy.
I smile, really feeling it, a spark of light.
She smiles back, and neither of us is sure,
so we keep smiling, look away, and pass on by.
 I wonder if she loves me. I wonder if I love her.
A dream of someone who’d cherish me, love me,
may be what I am reaching for, hope of a warm solace.
I blow air onto the spark she lit, hoping to light the night.
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